


like fallen leaves and sunlight

by swift_river_singing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crush, Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Luna-centric, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swift_river_singing/pseuds/swift_river_singing
Summary: It's early September when Luna first notices Ginny Weasley.





	

It's early September, and Luna is sitting cross legged under her favorite elm tree when she first notices Ginny Weasley.

Luna loves this time of year, blue skies tempered by the first snap of cold in the air, a splatter of red and yellow just starting to make its way across the trees. In the spring, Luna likes to sit by the lake, watching the sunlight shimmer on the water and straining her ears to catch fragments of mermaid song. Autumn, though, autumn is for the forest.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, and as she does so she feels the prickly scrape of pine needles under her bare feet. She clenches and unclenches her toes, gathering up little piles of dirt and twigs, then pressing them back down again with the balls of her feet. When she breathes in, the air smells sweet and sharp. The scent is familiar and strange at the same time, and she's not quite sure why. Bowtruckles will be migrating soon, she thinks distractedly.

Luna remembers the first time her mother brought her to the woods. The memory is just fragments, really, distant enough that it might have been a dream, but for its crisp detail and sharp edges. Luna remembers (she thinks) the press of her mother's hand, cool and smooth around her own tiny fingers. She remembers a stream, and a big, mossy boulder, and her mother's voice, chanting a strange, guttural series of syllables. She remembers being frightened, tugging at the bottom of her mother's robes. But the older witch didn't look down; her attention was fixed on a gnarled oak in front of them, and she was still chanting.

Luna remembers a strange creaking noise, and darkness--she supposes she must have shut her eyes in terror. But then her mother was crouching next to her, stroking her hair. "Look, sweets. Look who's come to visit us." Cautiously, Luna opened one eye, then the other. She stared in the direction her mother was pointing, then looked back up at her mother, confused. She didn't see anything. Laughter, her mother's. "Look closely, love. Do you notice anything?"

Luna peered ahead of her, stared at the bark of the tree, the grooved lines and crevices etched down the front, the tiny green and white leaves of lichen splattered across the trunk, the dark stain of moss. She felt dizzy, for a moment, overwhelmed by the sensory input, too much to hold in her sight at once. Then, the image came back into focus, and she saw a little dot, gold, moving like an ant down the bark. And then she saw three of them, and then five, and eight, and then all at once there were too many to count.

"What are they, mum?"she whispered. "Aurumuns," her mother replied, and Luna could hear the delight in her voice. "I wasn't sure if the calling spell would work; it's a new one that I'm developing...". She trailed off, and they sat in silence, watching the tree come alive in gold.

At least, that's what Luna remembers. How true the memory is doesn't matter much, she's decided. It helps her make sense of the way she rubs up against the world--not like other people do, she understands.

Luna knows, in a vague sort of way, that people tend not to get her. She supposes that if she wanted to, she could make a sort of study of it. She could figure out how to melt smoothly into conversations instead of always pulling people up short, caught between amused and annoyed. In the end, though, Luna can't really help it. She pays attention to different things, that's all. And, whispers a small, fierce voice inside her, she's not willing to give up her way of noticing.

Noticing. First there's the general blur, just going about her day. Then something catches her eye, and all of a sudden her mind is drenched in detail, so much that she can hardly breathe. And then somehow, out of the chaos, something will come into focus. Something small, maybe, that was there all along.

There's that smell again, tickling at Luna's nose. She breathes in once more, and tries to take it all in--to sink into this moment, this place, these feelings. What are they trying to tell her? she asks herself. What am I missing? The air is sweet and smoky, and the leaves are orange at the tips, and the sun is shining in dappled spots like freckles on the forest floor.

Smoky, sweet smells; orange; freckles; and a tingling in Luna's belly, a strange rushing pressure in her chest, like she felt on the very first day of classes--or that morning, she realizes, at breakfast. She had looked down the hall, amid the clamor of bowls and spoons and chattering students. She had looked, and there was a redhead laughing over her porridge, eyes flashing almost gold in the early light.

Oh, Luna thinks, slow and delighted. I fancy Ginny Weasley. And all at once, the world comes back into focus.


End file.
